


and brother if you have the chance to pick me up?

by mitch23k



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Brothers, Jet has to deal with a lot i lov him, Kobra and Party dont recognize each other and hilarity ensues, M/M, Non-Binary Party Poison, Non-Binary Party Poison (Danger Days), Pre meeting the girl and fun ghoul, also everyone is trans and gay but we'll get to that later, but he'll be there in the end jsyk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitch23k/pseuds/mitch23k
Summary: Kobra Kid and Party Poison left the city separately and have been searching for each other ever since. However, due to some hair dye and changed names, they don't recognize each other the first time they meet up again...or the next two times after that.Based entirely on Pink’s hysterical headcanon for Party and Kobra meeting in the desert ----> https://hyperthrust.tumblr.com/post/190410350609
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days), Jet Star & Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Jet Star & Party Poison (Danger Days), Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 74





	1. does anyone have the guts to shut me up?

Jet-Star had only known Party Poison for three weeks, but he was pretty sure he should be backing them up right now. That’s what partners did, no matter how short of a time they’d been partners. Jet had had lots of gangs. He knew what he should be doing.

Yet he stayed where he was, leaned up against the beat-up Trans Am Party had, according to their own words, “jacked single-handedly from the Director’s second cousin in the Lobby”, as Party argued with the motorbaby they’d nearly hit. 

“Fuck you,” the kid was saying, skinny arms crossed, dyed blond hair hanging in his eyes. His motorcycle was on it’s side, one wheel spinning still. He had swerved to avoid the car and crashed. “How in the name of Destroya am I supposed to get back to Tommy’s now?”

“You’re welcome for saving you from those Dracs, by the way,” Party snorted. “Without us, you’d be with the Witch right now!” They turned. “Right Jet?”

Jet nodded. It was true. Party wasn’t a bad driver when not being chased, nor were they usually this pissy - actually, they were one of the nicest people Jet had ever met, and certainly the best partner he’d ever run with. Their only downfall seemed to be their remarkably short temper, which, unfortunately, was showing itself right now. 

It didn’t help that both he and Party were running on half an hour of sleep, and this other guy seemed to be working with even less, if the circles under his eyes were any indication. 

“The Dracs weren’t chasing me! They weren’t even in this zone until _you two_ led them here! I’d be perfectly fine without you!” The kid’s already high voice nearly cracked, and he swooped his head in embarrassment before continuing with a faint blush. “Do you look when you drive?”

“I! WAS! TRYING! TO! AVOID! GETTING! SHOT!” Party shouted, stomping childishly with each word. Jet sighed. Apparently, Party was a few months older than him, but they didn’t really act like it. Granted, it must have been weird, adjusting to life in the desert at the tender age of 17 after spending your whole life in the city. They’d get over it...

Jet watched as Party kicked sand in the other kid’s face. 

...maybe. 

“Look,” Jet said, finally stepping forward. He toed some defeated Drac’s laser gun out of his way. “We’re sorry, we didn’t really have the ability to avoid you. However,” Jet-Star added at Party’s triumphant _HA!_ , “it’s totally our fault. Right, Party?”

Party scowled and looked away. 

“Hey, driver, it’s our fault, right?” Jet prodded with a hard look. 

Party might’ve been older and the undisputed ringman of their two-person gang, but they cowed under Jet’s gaze. “Yeah, I guess,” they allowed. “Sorry about your bike, or whatever.”

Jet decided that was probably the best he was going to get out of Party and turned back to the kid. “We’ll give you a ride to Tommy’s and pack your bike in the car.”

“Doubt it’ll fit with us all riding.”

“We’ll make Party sit in the back with it.”

“Woah, I dri-”

“Party,” Jet said as patiently as he found possible at that moment. “Dude, this once, just this once, I am driving. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Party swallowed their pride and nodded at their boots. 

The blond eyed Jet suspiciously, then seemed to decide he was sincere. He offered him a small, tight smile and stuck out his hand. “Thanks. I’m Kobra Kid. Nice to meet you.”

Kobra Kid was wearing all black, jeans and a ill-fitting shirt. It all looked slightly big on him, and if his hand was any indication, he was skinny as a rod. The only fitting item was a red leather jacket with the beginning of some stencil on the sleeve that had apparently been abandoned due to lack of handiwork or skill. 

“Jet-Star. This is Party Poison. We run together.” Jet leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re usually not this upset - we’ve had a rough few days. Sorry.”

Kobra studied Party - who was now sulking a few feet away, oblivious - and smiled a little. “I get it. If we’re being totally fair, I wasn’t really paying much attention either. Plus, my bike’ll be fine with ‘bout an hour’s work. It’s not a big deal.”

“Shiny,” Jet said, relieved. “So, now we’re all aquantined. To Tommy Chow Mein’s?”

-

It was a pretty long ride to Zone Three and Jet learned a few facts about Kobra along the way. 

  1. He’d been in the desert for about a year after escaping Battery City. 
  2. His parents were dead.
  3. Cherri Cola, a friend of Jet and Party’s, had actually saved Kobra’s ass once or twice and gotten him a job with Tommy



“Small world,” Poison said in the back, bitterly, squashed against the motorbike. 

  1. He was looking for someone (no specification on who they were or why he was looking. That wasn’t that uncommon. Everyone was looking for someone, Party included, as a matter of fact.)
  2. He preferred the quiet. 



This last fact was a glaring problem, because Party notoriously needed noise around themself constantly. Jet was similar, and decided that since Party had already suffered a bruised ego and was rubbing uncomfortably against an engine, they deserved mercy more. The radio was turned on, but left on a considerably low volume for Kobra’s sake. 

Jet resisted humming along as News-A-Go-Go announced that “F.T.W.W” was coming up next, but Party sang every word as loudly as possible. Kobra grunted and stared out the window for the remainder of the drive. 

Witch. They just weren’t going to get along, no matter what Jet did. 

Whatever. Jet wasn’t in league with Party to babysit. He’d been the sole survivor of too many claps, lost too many friends, to want anything now but to help take down BLI in whatever way he could. 

They dropped Kobra off at Tommy’s store without further event. Kobra thanked them and, as was custom, gave them a curt “Keep running,” before rolling his bike away. 

Party swooped into the front before Jet could do anything about it and snagged the driver’s seat before it could be reclaimed. With a “woo” of victory, he drove them home. 

Home was Dr. Death Defying’s place - they were working on their own private hideout, but in the meantime, Dr. D was more than happy to oblige his two favorite Killjoys. 

“You know,” Party said as they pulled up to the bunker. “That kid was such a buzzkill.”

Jet rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because he was right. You nearly beheaded him with the side mirror.”

“That wasn’t my fault and you know it,” Party replied, hopping out. “The Dracs were-”

“I know, I know. It’s - I know, Party. But, well, he looked what, fifteen, sixteen? Of course he was mad.”

Party shrugged. “Yeah, well. Probably fifteen, I think. Fifteen year olds don’t think very much. I certainly didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah, you were drugged up to your gills in happy pills in the city then,” Jet said, managing a laugh. 

Party laughed too. “That’s fair. Poor me.”

Kobra Kid forgotten, the friends trampled into Dr. D’s and laid down for a proper sleep 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo im like obsessed with mcr now lmao i really do just hop from hyperfixation to hyperfixation. ill try to put some dc stuff out soon ive got some ideas percolating.


	2. to the sound of the ache and pain

It’s months later before the Terrific Two, as Show Pony has taken to calling them, meet up with the mysterious Kobra Kid again. 

Jet is trying to calculate how many carbons they’ll have by the end of this little shopping trip as Poison attempts to barter with Tommy, who, if his unamused expression is any indication, is not going to give him a discount on the hair dye. He and Party have really hit their stride as teammates and are doing well enough to be able to chill a bit, loitering in the store just to annoy Tommy rather than running for their lives 24/7. Much to Party’s delight, they’re starting to make a name for themselves, much thanks to Dr. D’s occasional allowance to have them on the show to try and excite the zones into battle. 

Things are good. It’s quiet, the radio barely audible in the background. Jet finds himself humming along and he smiles. It’s been quiet all over the past week - no drac patrols, no reports of Scarecrow units spotted anywhere, just good music intercut with Dr. D’s or News-A-Gogo’s cheerful report of how nice things have been. 

Jet’s desert-born. He knows quiet spells like this usually lead up to a big storm. But damn, if it hasn’t been so nice he’d been starting to think it’ll stay like this. 

There was the sound of smashing glass and the unmistakable noise of a laser gun going off to his right. Jet ducked behind the aisle wall and fished his gun out of his holster. 

He should probably listen to his original instincts more often. 

Laser gun drawn, he dashed out from the hideout and immediately started shooting at the four Dracs just outside the now-smashed front window of Tommy’s store. Party seemed to have already downed one of them, guarding the annoyed Tommy on the other side of the room. Jet efficiently got rid of two and Poison shot another.

Jet’s head whipped around. There had been one more, hadn’t there? He heard Party gasp from too far away and felt the cold press of a laser fun on his temple. The final was right in front of him, staring down.

Party was on the other side of the store and there was no one his shot would fire before the Drac’s. Jet shut his eyes…

And couldn’t help but flinch and open them as the Drac pushed against him. He shoved him away instinctively and watched as he slumped to his knees, dead. Blood was all over his back.

As he fell, he revealed his killer - none other than the Kobra Kid, sans the red leather jacket he had last time Jet saw him. He was in shirtsleeves now - an unusual thing out in the zones, despite the heat - and typical black jeans. He lowered his arm and seemed to notice Jet for the first time. 

“Oh, you,” he said, monotone, and then collapsed. 

Jet ran forward and grabbed the kid’s bony shoulder. Witch, did he ever eat? He was a skinny guy. He had a bruise coloring his cheek and a cut on his forehead, not deep but bleeding good enough. He had to have been running from the Dracs before coming here to try to get help from his employer.

Party slid into the fray next to him. “Hey, it’s whatshisname!”

“Kobra,” Jet reminded them, before turning back to the man himself. “Hey, you okay?”

“Augh,” Kobra answered, eyes unfocused. 

“What the fuck, Kobra Kid?” Tommy said somewhere behind them. Jet isn’t sure he’s ever heard him swear before. It’s just not very Tommy, always the uber-official businessman. “How did you get Dracs on your tail all the way in Zone Six? It was a simple delivery order!”

Party flipped Tommy off. “Can you maybe hang off ‘til we got an all clear, old man?” They turned back around. “Kid? Kid, are you hit somewhere?” Party said. gentle, pressing a hand to Kobra’s shoulder. “Kid?”

It was then that Jet saw the blood pooling on the floor. He noticed Kobra’s hand shoved into his side and pulls it away to reveal a significant cut right above his hip. How the fuck did a Drac get a hold of a knife? They almost exclusively used their guns, which was actually helpful in the long run to ‘joys, as they cauterized instantly as long as they were anything more than a graze. Jet pushed the questions out of his head and gripped Poison’s sleeve. “Look.”

Once Party saw the blood, his mouth set in a thin line and he got to work. 

People liked to talk shit about Party. Since partnering with them roughly seven months earlier, Jet had come across many people who had a bone to pick with Party Poison, sometimes for nothing personal - they either hated their so-called “inspirational” radio speeches or just found them to have a punchable face. Plenty of ‘joys thought Party was childish, arrogant, egotistical, too flamboyant, annoying, loud, had a god complex, you name it. Everyone had something to say about them. On rare occasions, Jet found people were correct. 

However, it was moments like the present one that changed people’s minds on Party Poison. You could say what you wanted about them - it was undeniable that they were a perfect, natural-born leader...and the best person to have around in dangerous situations.

“Tommy, gauze and disinfectant. Belt - only if it’s leather. Hm, needle and thread, can’t tell if this’ll need stitches just yet. Pain-relief medicine, if there’s any in. A case of water too, while you’re at it. You know we’ll pay you back,” Party added before Tommy could grumble. Party had such a commanding voice that even Tommy was clay in their hands, and Tommy did indeed go off to do Party’s bidding. 

“Jet. Jet!” 

He snapped to attention. Party had their hands pressed to the wound in Kobra’s side, and they were looking right at their partner. “Hey, keep him awake. We don’t know if he has a head wound or how much blood he’s lost.”

“Right,” Jet said, slightly in awe still, and did just that. “Hey, Kobra Kid. Wakey-wakey, sunshine.”

Kobra’s dark eyelashes fluttered but remained stubbornly closed. “F’rget your n’me,” he mumbled.

Jet had to smile. “Understandable. You seem like a busy guy. Jet-Star and Party Poison.”

“In the flesh, live and charged,” Party added. Tommy reappeared with the goods in tow. “Shiny, thanks a million, Tommy.” They began to open the rubbing alcohol and in one swift move, stuck the belt in-between Kobra’s teeth. “I’ve been telling ‘ya, Jet, we need to get a catchphrase for Dr. D’s show. Hey, snake boy, sorry about this.” 

Party pulled up Kobra’s black shirt and liberally poured the rubbing alcohol over the cut. Uncommonly, Kobra Kid didn’t howl at the sharp pain, but instead bit down hard on the belt and tightly shut his eyes. 

Jet and Party exchanged a terse look. So, the kid was used to pain. 

Jet sighed and tried to lower Kobra Kid to the ground as gently as possible. He barely let out a grunt of pain, just kept his eyes screwed shut and spat the belt out of his mouth. He was still awake, though, which was all that could really be asked of him at this point. 

Party assessed the damage as they cleaned the remaining blood away. Jet leaned in to get a good look. The cut wasn’t that deep, but long, and would require stitches. Party seemed to realize it at the same time and frowned. “Jet, needle.”

And so Jet got to work. Party had a bit of a problem with needles - as in they’d pass out if they were pricked by one, and couldn’t really watch one go in someone else’s skin. They’d never explained why, but Jet could put two and two together pretty easily. BL/I had a habit of drugging problem people intravenously. Party had definitely been a problem person in the city. It wasn’t that hard to figure out why they had a slight phobia. 

Party turned away and started fiddling with the other materials Tommy had brought. Jet began painstakingly stitching up the cut. Absently, he realized that despite Party’s clear anxiety right then, they were talking aloud, commenting on how cool this one shot had been during the Drac attack, talking about how mad they were that no one had seen him to a backflip to protect Tommy from another-

“That didn’t happen,” Tommy said, annoyed, watching while Jet continued his work. “And you owe me forty carbons.”

“Aw, you can have the belt back, Mr. Chow Mein,” Poison said in a sing-song. “That oughta lower it by at least five.”

“It’s got bite marks in it.”

“That’s probably more appealing to most of the folks out here.” 

“Hm. Will the _ Terrific Two  _ be sticking around to help clean up this glass, or are you just staying long enough to talk my ear off?”

Party rolled their eyes. “I’m tryna keep the kid awake. You are awake, right, motorbaby?”

Kobra moaned.   
“See?” Party smirked. “Nearly done, Star-Man?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Jet replied, a smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. He quickly wiped the wound clean again. “Okay, needle is put away. You can look.”

“Yay me.” Party pulled the gauze out and made quick work of covering it up, all while chatting aimlessly about how Tommy charged way too much for Power Pup and how they couldn’t wait to redye their roots when this was all over and geez Kobra Kid, you could use a bit of dye as well, your roots are out of control-

Jet wiped his hands mostly clean on his pants and stood up. Party seemed good at this, so he turned to Tommy, who was glowering. 

“What was the delivery in Zone Six?” Jet asked. Tommy flicked his eyes away from Kobra and Party. 

“Nothing that concerns any killjoys, I assure you,” Tommy sneered. Jet resisted the urge to sigh. Though his dislike of killjoys was known, Jet had always figured Tommy had liked him well enough. Apparently not. 

“Well, maybe you should keep a better ear out for your _ valued  _ employees,” Jet bit back. “Your radio wasn’t even on a frequency he could’ve gotten to you on.”

“He wouldn’t have called anyway,” Tommy replied icily. “Got something against asking for help. Typical.”

Typical, indeed. Though desert society was founded on the idea that to survive, one must work in a group, people didn’t tend to like looking outside their own gang for assistance. And Kobra Kid, whatever his relationship to Tommy and Cherri, was definitively without a gang. 

Jet shook his head. “Whatever, Tommy. We’ll help sweep up and then get out of your hair. Party?”

“Hey, you got a bed for him, right?” Party said without answering Jet. Kobra Kid’s head was in their lap and they were combing through his hair with their gloved hand. 

Jet blinked. That was new. 

Tommy scoffed. “I don’t even have a bed, Poison. The kid doesn’t live here, I don’t know where he sleeps. Obviously he can stay here to recover-”

“Mmnf,” Kobra grunted. His eyes opened with some difficulty. “‘M not stayin’ here.”

“You can’t walk,” Tommy said with all the patience and care of the Director. “How, pray tell, will you be getting back to whatever hole you live in?”

“He can come with us,” Party said casually. Jet thought his eyes were about to bug out of his head. “I mean, Dr. D’s always got a spare pillow for pups.”

“I do believe he’s older than you.”

“No way, Tommy. He’s a total pup. Kid, how old are ya?”

“Ninet’n,” Kobra managed, coughing a little. He tried to sit up and nearly fell back down. Party gathered him up neatly and pulled his back up to their chest, more or less hugging him. 

Yeah, something weird was going on. Party was pretty touch-shy. Jet didn’t know why and didn’t want to ask, but he figured it was something similar to the whole needle thing. Jet was completely the opposite - totally touch-starved, dying whenever anyone so much as brushed against him. Even so, Party had offered Jet a quick hug here and there, more often a friendly hit on the back and once, when Jet was having a panic attack after a clap, Party had held his hand the whole way back to the station. 

But this? Party, for a decent amount of time, touching skin with basically a stranger? Jet wouldn’t have believed it if he weren’t seeing it in real time. 

“Don’t lie. He’s fifteen.” Tommy stepped over the glass with his fancy-ass shoes, probably getting blood all over them. He knelt before Party and Kobra. Party’s weird little hug grew a little tighter, oddly protective. “I’ll be frank, Kobra Kid. I’d advise you against going with these two. You can stay here as long as is needed.”

Party rolled their eyes again. “Aw, so he does care.” They turned their attention to Jet. “Car.”

Their tone more than irked Jet, but, as usual, he decided to grit his teeth and move on. They were going to have a conversation about treating Jet like a dog, and soon. He stepped forward but was blocked by Tommy.

“At least ask him, by the Witch,” he muttered, pointing at the kid. 

“Kobra, no pressure,” Jet said, “It’s your choice. You’ll be fine with either of us. Who d’ya want to take you?”

Kobra blinked once, twice, then snuggled in closer to Party’s chest. 

“Well, that settles it,” Party said with a grin. 

  
  
  


It was later, at Dr. D’s station that Jet decided to ask. 

“Change your mind?” he queried as they laid Kobra Kid on the beat-up couch that was going to be serving as sickbed for the next few days. Kobra grunted but stayed asleep, just as he had the whole ride home, perhaps thanks to Party actually leaving the radio off for once. 

Party’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

Jet gestured to the sleeping fifteen year-old. “I thought he was a total buzzkill.”

“Oh, him. Yeah, he seems like a real piece of work, to be honest.” They looked away, started fiddling with their gloves. Their speech became fast. “I’d be irritated too if I were Tommy. All that glass everywhere - anyway, he didn’t even realize that he gave me a discount on the dye in the end. Ha! Another win for the Terrific Two, huh? I think I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow to redo my hair, but-” 

Jet put up his hands in the universal  _ surrender  _ sign. “Party. Slow your roll. Since when are you so touchy-feely?” 

“Oh, that. Heh.” Party grabbed their blanket from the floor, started preparing their makeshift sleeping arrangements. Jet followed suit. They both had to clean up their shit in the mornings, so this was a nightly ritual. Essentially, it was a rudimentary pillow-fort with blanket fortifications, something Jet could recall occasionally making with other kids back in his neutral town as a child. Show Pony tried to snuggle in almost every night. Dr. D could tease all he wanted, but it was incredibly comfortable, and nice for cold desert nights. And hey, if it reminded Jet of ‘home’ a little bit, who had to know? 

“Yeah, that.”

“Uh, it’s nothing-” Party seemed to struggle to find the words, which was so uncharacteristic that Jet felt bad for bringing anything up. “It’s not...I mean, it has nothing to do with me not touching...you. It’s not just you, I mean! Uh, I-”

“No, I know it’s not- Nevermind, Party, I was just ragging on you.” Jet fluffed Party’s pillow to make up for it, handing it over. “I’m too curious for my own good. Forget it.”

“You don’t think I’ve got eyes for him or anything, do ya?” Party asked, wiggling their eyebrows so ridiculously Jet had to crack a smile. “He’s two years younger, he’s practically in the cradle. Plus, not my type. One day I’ll marry Mad Gear, as you know-”

Oh, Jet knew all about Party’s elaborate Mad Gear romance dreams. “Right, and I’m your Best Joy.”

“‘Course, buddy ol’ pal ol’ friend. This kid’s far too skinny for me. I need Mad Gear and his muscles to take me far, far away from here. I’ll be back to visit, surely.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And either way, uh…” Party’s eyes flickered away again. “He kinda...kinda reminds me of my brother. So.”

Pity filled Jet’s heart, which he knew wouldn’t do well to show, so he tried to keep his face impassive. Party had been searching for his little brother for as long as he’d been out in the zones, and had finally given up a few weeks after meeting Jet. Apparently, they’d lived with a droid-parent in the city after their own died, and one day Party’s brother had just disappeared. Party had always feared he’d been given to the Scarecrow Unit or had missed curfew by a minute and been executed for it, but they’d still looked all around the desert for the slim chance he’d made it out.

“Oh,” Jet said, at a loss for anything to say. 

“Yeah, he would’ve been fifteen too.” Party looked over at Kobra’s sleeping form fondly. “He’d be way shorter, though. You know, obviously, wouldn’t be that tall. Witch, you really lucked out, getting to be nearly six foot, huh?”

Jet nodded with a small smile. “Sure did. Kids used to make fun of me for it.” Back when everyone had called him a girl for some reason, despite Jet knowing all along he was a boy. Party understood though, of course. People tried to call Party a boy or a girl all the time. And Party’s mysterious little brother had been trans too, as much as he could’ve been in the oppressive city. 

“Yeah. It’s stupid. I dunno, I think it’s something about the eyes. I didn't realize last time we saw him. They look similar. As far as I can remember, anyway. Pills,” Party added by way of explanation. It didn’t need to be elaborated on. “I keep thinking I’m going to forget what he looked like.”

“You won’t,” Jet said as comfortingly as he could manage. “Draw him or something.”

“I have before. Maybe I’ll do one tomorrow, I dunno.” And by the change in Party’s tone of voice, Jet could tell ‘sharing and caring time’ was over for tonight. “Ugh, I can’t believe you didn’t see the awesome kickflip I did to defend Tommy.”

Jet snorted. “Earlier you said it was a backflip.”

“I did both! At once!”

“ _ Right _ . Sure, I believe you, Poison.”

“Well, I’m glad  _ somebody _ does. Tommy seemed skeptical.”

“I wonder why…”

Party was a good friend, always ready to make Jet laugh. Jet was a good friend too, which is why he kept his mouth shut and pretended he was asleep when, a few minutes after they had both laid down for the night, Party got up and tucked their own blanket around Kobra, patted the kid’s cheek, and sighed before getting back to bed. 

Jet wondered idly if Party’s brother knew how much he was missed. Probably not. After all, like Party had told him before, he was either dead or a crow, which was for all intents and purposes, dead. 

It wasn’t good to dwell on these things anyway. Party’s brother was gone, and thinking about him too much was going to make Jet sad, even though they’d never met. 

He turned over, sent the Phoenix Witch a quick prayer for Kobra to recover quickly and for Party to have nice, Mad Gear-filled dreams, and went to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO party sure is dumb of ass, huh. jet is sweet of heart j'adore him. 
> 
> i wrote tommy really shittily, I didn't mean to make him seem like such a dick. I shamelessly got most of my tommy characterization from this fic ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606337 ) which is maybe the best DD story in the world, it makes me cry every time. 
> 
> so! i tried to shoe-horn in some jet backstory even tho it's a p+k story because from what ive seen of DD fics, most neglect my boy
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!! mwah!


	3. the nights we chase

“This is absolutely an awful idea,” Party Poison said, deadpan, as the Kobra Kid latched his knee pads shut.

Kobra grinned up at them. “This is the best idea I’ve ever had, actually.”

Jet didn’t think, in the rough year he’d known Kobra Kid, that he’d ever seen him look so happy or excited. In a similar vein, in the year and a half he’d known Poison, Jet didn’t think he’d ever seen him so sour. 

“C’mon,” Kobra said. “It’s going to be _so_ shiny.” His usual straight-faced, no-emotion expression had been replaced with undeniable bubbling excitement. Jet couldn’t help but smile at him. Not much excited the kid. Who would’ve guessed he was a closet Crash Queen all along?

He’d been practicing non-stop for weeks, riding his bike up and down the hills dotting Zone Four. To hear Kobra talk about it, he’d been perfecting jumps and turns as long as he’d had his bike, just a few days into his venture into the Zones. And now, with the big rally happening in Zone Three tonight, he was finally getting the opportunity to show off his skills. 

“Rallies are incredibly dangerous, you know,” Party said, glaring at the blond Killjoy. They coughed deeply. Their voice sounded rough, so Jet was slightly concerned that they might be coming down with something. “Last time, Electric Thrust broke her arm on a turn.”

“I’m better than Electric Thrust,” Kobra laughed, pulling on his boots.

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” Jet murmured, taking the shove Kobra sent his way. “But I will say, Kid, I think you’re gonna win tonight.”

“Aw shucks, isn’t this just special,” Party sarcastically supplied. They coughed into their arm again, immediately waving off Jet’s look of concern. “Well, _I_ think he’s gonna get his head taken off at the obstacle course.”

Kobra chucked an empty can of Power Pup at Party with no heat. They easily dodged. “If I didn’t know any better, Party, I’d actually think you cared.”

Party blew a cherry. “You wish, Kid.”

And off they sauntered to go brood in the back room. 

Kobra rolled his eyes so dramatically Jet could’ve mistaken him for Party. Sometimes they looked alike, oddly enough - something in the eyes, the slant of their noses, was similar. “They’re so weird.”

“They’re just nervous,” Jet said. Kobra dug through a cabinet, humming. He seemed so content, getting ready. He’d never been this relaxed in Jet’s presence the whole time they’d known each other. Kobra had slithered his way into Jet and Party’s lives, loitering around Dr. D’s hideout much longer than necessary when delivering something, always stopping for water whenever passing through. After Jet and Party had found this abandoned diner three months earlier, the visits had only increased. This had boiled to the point where Kobra Kid would spend the night in the diner often, to avoid wandering the Zones at night for deliveries. (If you asked Jet, he’d say there was no way Tommy sent Kobra on night trips that often, not this far out in the Zones. What was more likely was that the little nomad got a bit lonely and appreciated the company. But Jet would never say that aloud, and the stone-faced Kobra would surely never admit to it.) “People do get injured in crashes pretty often, Kid.”

“Not me,” Kobra professed proudly. “I’ve never crashed, not once!”

Jet had to smile. “I seem to recall a certain bottle blond spinning out about a year ago, after the Terrific Two had led some dracs on a chase…”

Kobra stopped rifling to stick out his tongue. Jet had to swallow the gasp - Kobra could actually act his age? “That so doesn’t count. Party hit me.”

“Well, when you turned-“

“If you two hadn’t-!“

“Alright, alright, we’re not getting into this again.” The first meeting was a point of constant contention, Party maintaining that the hit was Kobra’s fault, Kobra vehemently denying this and accusing Party of trying to kill him. “Just, uh, be careful out there, okay, Kid?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks,” he added when Jet finally handed him the other knee-pad he’d been searching for. “You guys act like I’m twelve.”

“You’re not sixteen yet, dude. Twelve was not that long ago.”

“Uh-huh, and how old are you again, Jet-Star?” Kobra said innocently, batting his eyelashes as he secured his pads. “Seventeen for another two months, right?”

“Shut it,” Jet said while Kobra laughed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be getting to?”

“Sure do.” He stood, dangling his key in front of Jet. “Have fun acting like nervous parents while I pop wheelies.”

“Do NOT do wheelies!” Party yelled from the back room. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Kobra sing-songed, and ran off to get to the race, shoving his ever-present sunglasses on as he went.

Jet sighed. They acted like such annoying brothers sometimes. Still, it was nice to see Kobra act like an excited fifteen-year-old, rather than his usual “I have seen too much and no I will not talk about it” act. 

—

Two hours later, at the race-track, Jet had completely forgotten Kobra was fifteen. 

He’d absolutely destroyed everyone at the obstacle portion, killed it in the long-distance event, and was currently beating everyone’s asses at the sand hills. Jet and Party watched from the rickety stands as Kobra sprayed sand in some poor killjoy’s face as he landed a jump. 

“Woah,” Jet said appreciatively as Kobra did a no-hands jump. Another killjoy nearby - greasy black hair flipping around- cheered wildly, clearly a fan. His artfully tattooed hands flailed around. Jet was proud Kobra was causing such a reaction. 

He glanced over at Party, who was clutching their hands over their eyes - though Jet could see they were peeking through their fingers. “Since when are you such a baby about this?” he teased.

“He’s going to _die_ ,” Party despaired. 

Jet laid a gentle hand on their shoulder. “Kobra will be fine. He clearly knows how to handle himself on the bike.” 

Party shook their head. “I really wish I hadn’t come. I hate this.”

“You like rallies!”

“He’s gonna die,” Party just repeated, now fully covering their eyes. The crowd cheered as the Kobra Kid was announced the winner. Jet let out a “woo” of support, but Party stayed silent. Jet wasn’t sure if it was concern for Kobra anymore - Party looked a bit ill. Remembering their coughs earlier, Jet asked, “You good?”

Party nodded tightly. “Think I’m just nervous. Stomach’s queasy. Kid needs to stop letting go of the handlebars.” 

Jet smiled. “He sure likes that move. You sure you’re alright?”

They shrugged. “Just tired. A little run-down. I’m fine, I’ll get some extra sleep tonight, I think.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Oh, great, he’s doing a victory lap. Destroya, stop doing fucking wheelies!” 

Even hours later, back at the diner, Party was uncharacteristically quiet, a direct foil to Kobra’s newfound glee. True to their word, Party went to bed immediately upon arrival, looking pale. Kobra, meanwhile, was practically skipping around the diner with his little bag of carbons he’d been awarded for his efforts throughout the day. Sitting around one of the booths, Jet congratulated the kid. 

“Thanks, Jet,” Kobra said, flushed with excitement. “Witch, that was so cool!”

“You killed it, dude. All those ‘joys in their twenties just standing around, wondering how a kid was beating them...it was hilarious, Kobra!” 

Kobra grinned. “Today was just...wow, today has literally been the greatest day of my life! I know that sounds crazy, but-“ He took a deep breath, smiled at the table. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy before.”

Jet forced a smile. Yeah, winning the whole rally was a pretty big deal, but never so happy in his entire life? He didn’t know much about Kobra’s past, minus the few little things he’d mentioned at their first meeting. Even in the recent months of Kobra hanging around the diner, Jet and Party had learned precious little about their sometimes roommate. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean,” Kobra paused. Behind their sunglasses, Jet could just make out that Kobra’s eyes were darting about. “Uh, you know, I don’t really- I dunno. I always kinda feel like there’s a giant black cloud following me around. I have some of the shittiest luck in the world, I know it. After the city-“ He broke off with a self-conscious chuckle. “Um, sorry. I usually don’t ramble on like this. I’m just still feeling the adrenaline rush, I think.” 

“No, no, don’t be sorry. I’m, uh, I’m a good listener. Feel free to keep goin’.”

Kobra snorted. For the first time today, their smile was nowhere to be found. “Yeah, with the Majesty of Running Their Mouth around here, you kinda have to be a good listener, huh.”

Jet grinned. “Party gets a bad rep. They’re pretty thoughtful when you get them talking.” For everyone’s sake, Jet held his tongue about the heart-to-heart he and Party had had over Kobra’s prone body that night at Dr.D’s shack. “Trust me, they’ve got a lot going on upstairs.” He tapped his temple. 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Kobra stared out the window. “He reminds me of my-“ he began, then cut off, then started again on a completely different topic. “You know, I wasn’t on that high of a dose in the city? Like, I was always pretty tall for my age, and even back when we had plenty of food out there, I’ve always been skinny. Uh, and...you know, they have a certain amount of pills you’re supposed to get for certain heights and stuff, but, I don’t know, I don’t think they were keeping good enough track of mine. I had crazy growth spurts all the time, so. I was really under-dosed.” 

Jet nodded. He was desert-born, of course, but he knew enough about Battery City to understand so far. “Yeah?”

“So, I mean, from like, I guess, like age eight? From age eight they didn’t really work on me. And everyone I knew was always so happy. So fucking happy. And I wasn’t. And I tried to hide it, but I was so sad all the time. My parents were fucking mindless, let me tell you. But my older sister, I think she must have had something funky going on with her pills too, I don’t know what. But she was like me. Not exactly. Like, sometimes they would get her doses right, and she’d be just like everyone else for a few months. But then, I don’t know why, they’d stop working again. And she’d look after me when that happened. She always did, but she was always really out of it when her pills _were_ working. Her doses were pretty fucking high. The problem was something chemical in her brain, if I remember right. So they had to give her some of the new stuff they hadn’t really tried out yet and see if it stuck for another few months until it would stop again. But when they weren’t working, she’d hide it pretty well for a few months, and those were always the good times. She talked a lot. Like, a lot a lot.” He laughed. “Once you got her started, she’d go for hours about anything. That’s what Party reminded me of, actually.”

Kobra paused for a second, and Jet pretended to fiddle with the stuffing coming out of the booth so he could collect himself. After a minute, he continued.

“Anyway, uh. We were a fucking team when her pills weren’t working. She was the best. When I told her I was a boy, she was so- I mean, I had been so scared, and she just took it perfect. She’d call me “he” and stuff when we were alone and she was so great about it, just so fucking casual. I have no idea how, but one of these times she got ahold of some boy clothes, gave them to me for my birthday. She was perfect.”

“She sounds like a really good sister.”

“She was,” Kobra said, and the past tense hung in the air between them like a fog. 

Jet didn’t know what to say, so he just traced his finger around the dirty table in silence. He’d lost crew mates before that had been like siblings to him, but he couldn’t imagine Kobra’s anguish. Or Party’s, for that matter. How unlucky, both of them losing siblings they had clearly loved so dearly. 

“What happened?” Jet finally said after ten minutes had ticked by on the half-broken clock that was hung on the wall. “If you want to say.”

And for a moment, it seemed like Kobra would keep that secret, and Jet was more than okay with letting him, but, just when Jet was going to tell him it was okay, Kobra let out a massive sob and slammed his head onto the table. 

Startled, Jet froze. Kobra buried his head in his arms and wailed. 

Finally coming to his senses, Jet stood and slid out of his side of the booth, knelt beside Kobra Kid. “Hey,” he said, unsure of what to do. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” Kobra said something into the cradle of his arms that Jet couldn’t make out. “What?”

“You don’t understand!” Kobra screamed, still shoving his face deeper into the skin of his arm. He was so loud that for a moment, Jet worried the noise would wake Party andst they’d have some awkward explaining to do. “I said, it’s all my fucking fault! It’s all my fault!”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Jet soothed. “Kid, whatever happened, I’m sure-“

“If I hadn’t- fuck! Fuck! If I hadn’t cut my fucking hair, she’d be fine!”

Jet blinked. What the hell? “Kobra, what in the name of Destroya does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t get it,” the younger killjoy cried. “I just wanted...I couldn’t stand it anymore. I chopped off-“ he hiccuped through the tears, “I chopped off my hair one day and they don’t like that in the city. Girls are supposed to look like girls and they thought I was...I cut off all my hair and they were going try to figure out why I’d done it, and they were going to notice that my pills weren’t working and I’d actually start getting the right doses and, goddamnit, my sister wasn’t going to fucking have that, I guess.” Kobra pulled his head off the table and furiously wiped at his tears. “She said she’d done it, that her pills had stopped working again and it’d made her do it. Like, her pills _had_ stopped working again, but she always tried to keep that a secret. Fuck. They really doubled down on her. Experimental trial. She was on so many fucking pills, she was basically...I mean, she was catatonic, Jet. Didn’t talk, didn’t eat unless you made her. She wasn’t...she was always very vibrant, full of life, you know? Whenever her doses were fucked, she liked to do drawings. She wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.”

Kobra ducked his head again. Jet could tell he was still crying. “And then?” he ventured cautiously, not wanting to push the kid beyond what he could handle dredging up. 

“I’d already heard all about the Zones from other people around. I hung out in Skid Row sometimes, and most of those people don’t take their pills. Heh, you know, my sister would always get mad whenever I hung out down there. It was dangerous, obviously. I wasn’t supposed to be there. There’s always someone in the Row planning on escaping. I learned a lot down there, found out what times were the best to avoid guards, you know...I knew there was no chance of convincing our parents, but I figured. It was dumb, but I had to get her out, right? It was all my fault. I had to.

“And I did. I packed our bags, planned a route, and had everything worked out. Uh, there was just one problem, and that was that, well.” Kobra swallowed thickly. “The night of the escape, my sister - I don’t know if it was accidental. I hope. But, you know, she wasn’t happy. I don’t know. She wouldn’t talk to me, all doped up like that. I tried, I swear, I tried so hard to get her to talk to me in the days leading up, but she just. Anyway. She overdosed. Like I said, it coulda been accidental. She was on a fucking lot. But I found her and I called the- you don’t know, but there’s a special helpline for situations like that, it’s not that uncommon in the city, but I called the number, and I knew people were coming. I didn’t just leave her there. But...I know, before you even say anything, I already know I’m the shittiest person in the whole world, but, I left her there. I just figured they were only going to put her on more pills, and they’d probably look into my dosage just in case and find out about my shit, and…” Kobra looked at Jet with the guiltiest expression Jet had ever seen on another human being. “I left. Got into the Zones. Never looked back.”

Jet tried to keep his face impassive. He didn’t judge Kobra for what had happened - if Jet recalled correctly, Kobra had said when they first met that he’d been in the Zones for a year, so he had only been twelve or thirteen when all of this had gone down. How could you blame a child for being scared and wanting to be free? And he had tried, quite clearly, very hard to save his sister. But it was still difficult to hear.

“Do you understand?” Kobra was saying. He was staring intensely into Jet’s eyes. “You understand?”

“Yeah, Kobra, I-“

“She’s probably dead.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She’s either dead or as good as. And it’s all my fault.”

“You were a kid.”

“So was she. She was only fifteen. And I left her there.”

“Kobra, she was older, she-“

“So what, because I was her little brother I wasn’t obligated to help her? If I had been older than her, you’re saying, and I still left, _then_ it would be fucked up?”

“No, I just mean-“ Jet took a deep breath. “You were both kids. It wasn’t either of your faults. It’s Battery City’s fault. Not yours.”

Kobra’s face remained still, but Jet sensed that that had maybe made a dent in his guilt, because he didn’t look away in shame or anger. He stayed staring ahead until his eyes flickered away from Jet to something behind him. 

Jet turned. There was Party, looking annoyed. Shit, so they had woken them up. 

“You both do realize that some people-“ they coughed viciously, grabbing at their chest. Jet stood to steady them, but Party continued before he could do anything. “You realize it’s fucking nighttime, right? Fuck, I thought someone had gotten shot.”

“So you came out without a gun to help?” Kobra said dryly, still looking fairly numb. Clearly, it was just the first barb he had thought of and he didn’t mean it, but Party was obviously tired and not feeling great. They rounded on Kobra and grabbed his chin, tilted it up. 

“Listen to me, Snake Boy. You don’t live here. This is me and Jet’s place. Congrats on driving a bike faster than some other ‘Joys. Now, scram.”

“Party, don’t-“

Kobra stood. He had roughly five inches on Party. “Make me, asshat.”

 _This is not good,_ was Jet’s last thought before Party reared his fist back and punched. 

Kobra caught his fist and, unfortunately not as drained from story time as it had seemed, threw a punch of his own, which landed. Party staggered back and held their nose as, almost instantly, a stream of blood trickled steadily out. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Jet said, finally managing to get between them. “Everyone is tired and everyone is upset. Let’s all go to bed and we can handle this tomorrow with clearer heads, okay?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Kobra responded, grabbing his glasses off the table and flipping Party off as he pushed them on in one fluid motion. “Tommy probably has something for me to do tomorrow, so I think I’ll get an early start.”

“It’s dark out, don’t,” Jet said.

“Oh, let him,” Party said, probably wanting to sound tough, but with their cough and busted nose, it sounded comically squeaky. “He knows his way around a bike.”

“Finally, the first correct thing you’ve said all day.”

“Both of you, cut it out.”

“You hate me, that’s obvious,” Kobra said, shouting now. He a jabbed a thumb in Party’s direction. “You didn’t say shit after the rally, you’re always telling me what to do, you tried to fucking kill me with your fucking Trans Am!”

“If you hadn’t fucking turned right before we -“ Party pinched the bridge of their nose. “God, nevermind the fucking crash! You know what, maybe I do hate you. All you do is bitch about this and that. You’re such a fucking teenager.” Party neglected to mention that, as an eighteen-year-old, they were also a teenager. “This isn’t a fucking orphanage, Jet and I are trying to save the Zones!”

“Party, don’t say that you hate him,” Jet scolded. Party didn’t look even slightly cowed. “They don’t mean that, Kid, they’re sick-“

“‘Save the Zones’?” Kobra repeated mockingly. Jet had to physically hold Party back. “Yeah right. Running around looking for fights and stoking your massive ego on Dr.D’s station isn’t the same thing as starting a revolution, Poison.”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill him, I’m going to-“

“Party!” Jet barked, pulling him back and slamming him, as gently as one can slam their best friend, into the back wall. “Cut it out! Kobra, go cool off. Party, go to bed, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I think they do,” Kobra commented. “And don’t worry, I’m gone. You won’t be seeing me around for a good while, I promise you that.” Before Jet could stop him, he disappeared out the front doors. Seconds later, he heard his motorcycle roar off. 

Phoneix fucking Witch. 

Jet turned back to Party. “What the fuck is wrong with you? A few hours ago you were worried he was going to get hurt on the track. What happened to that? What happened to ‘he reminds me of my brother’, huh?”

Party shoved Jet off. “My brother was never such a brat. I never should have said that, my brother would have never-“ And Party started hacking again, doubled over in pain. Jet grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to lower him to the floor, but Party stood again, albeit unsteadily. “My brother would’ve been a real killjoy, he was a firecracker, he wouldn’t be a glorified delivery boy. Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Party, that cough sounds bad, you need to take it easy.” He pressed a hand to Party’s forehead and nearly hissed. “You’ve got a fever.”

“Fuck off, I’m fine.” Party stumbled off, made it halfway down the hallway and turned back to Jet. “He’s not allowed back here.”

“You’re not in charge,” Jet spat, too spent from taking care of everyone’s shit all the time to care about Party’s fever anymore. “Do I have to remind you every day? We’re partners.”

“You heard me. He’s not coming back here. My brother…” Party swallowed, looking pensive, then scowled. “Kobra Kid is the complete opposite of whatever my brother would’ve turned out like, trust me.”

And off to bed they went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Zone Flu, you perfect escalator of conflicts.


	4. can you take me home?

True to his word, the Kobra Kid stayed far from the diner after the fight. 

Jet radioed Dr. D a few days later under the guise of checking in, adding a quick question of Kobra’s whereabouts at the end of the call. The good doc had heard from Tommy that Kobra had been staying at the store during the nights, which was good. Better, at least, than sleeping out in the cold, as Jet had feared. 

As much as Jet wanted to get in contact with Kobra, he had more important things to do. 

For one, making sure Party Poison didn’t fucking die. 

Zone Flu was one of the more dangerous side-effects of escaping the city. Caused by a mixture of low immune health, heat, and exhaustion, it at first it functioned much like the normal flu, but after a day or two, the wracking coughs, the constant vomiting, shakes, tremors, hallucinations, and severe dehydration became incredibly serious. After dehydration and starvation, it was probably the number one killer in the zones, coming in right before murder via Dracs. 

And Party was currently infected with it. 

Jet, thank the Witch, was more or less immune thanks to being born out here. If anything, he might catch the sniffles from Party. But Party had been born and raised in the city, and they had no such defenses to the elements. 

The killjoy in question had been in the throes of the sickness for three days now, and Jet was starting to crack under the stress. 

They had no stolen BL/I medication, which could help. Jet had already radioed around, and no one seemed to have any to spare. The only other way to recover was to rest, ingest a lot of fluids, stay in a cool area, and hope. Even then, killjoys had been known to die anyway. 

They had had a solid stock of water at the beginning of the week, but it was starting to dwindle. The diner was running low on Power Pup as well. And it wasn’t like Jet could take the car for a spin to go resupply, because Party could fucking die while he was gone. He’d already tried calling around for help, a desperate measure, but there’d been Drac patrols abound all week, and everyone was holing up. It was far too dangerous to travel. Even Dr. D had been silent all day.

For the time being, Jet was just trying to make his friend comfortable and praying to whoever was listening that the disease would ride out on it’s own. 

Party was currently laid down on a moth-eaten blanket, writhing around in clear distress. They were in the hallucination stage, it seemed. Jet winced in sympathy and rattled the nearing-empty water bottle in his hand. “Party, can you sit up for me?”

They moaned. “Hurts,” they managed, clawing at their chest. 

“I know, motor-baby, I know. It’s gonna be okay. You need to drink some more water, c’mon.” Jet wrestled the older kid into what could be called a sitting position, and carefully held the bottle up to their lips.

Party drank gratefully, then slumped into Jet’s chest. They were evidently too spent to even cry, and just let out a weak groan. Jet bit his lip. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He hadn’t been around anyone sick with Zone Flu since he was a kid, and he hadn’t been the sole caretaker then. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

On the table, the radio crackled to life. 

Jet resisted the urge to dart to it and instead painstakingly lowered Poison to the ground with a grunt. He patted his friend on the head and all but ran to the radio. If Dr. D was reporting a drac squad in the area, Jet was actually going to lose his mind. How the fuck would he hold off a squad while trying to protect Party? 

“Hello,” he said into the speaker. “Hello, Dr. Death-Defying?”

“Tommy said you were asking after me,” the Kobra Kid said coldly through the crackly transmission. “What do you want?”

Jet blinked. “Kobra?”

“In the flesh, live and charged, or whatever the fuck  _ that asshole _ says on the broadcasts,” he responded with ice. “I said, what do you want? I haven’t been bothering you two, so don’t bother me.”

There was a note of finality in his tone that sent Jet into a panic. “Don’t hang up, please!” he begged, and the desperation seemed to keep Kobra on the line. “Are you at Tommy’s right now?”

Kobra hummed. “Does it matter?”

“Do me a favor and, I swear on the Witch, I will leave you alone,” Jet promised. There was a pause. “Or on Destroya. Or Tommy, whoever the fuck you believe in.”

Kobra grunted in what was hopefully assent, so Jet continued.

“Can you please bring some medicine to the Diner? BLI shit. I know it’s expensive, and I don’t really...I don’t really have the carbons right now, but tell Tommy I’ll pay him back however he wants, he knows I’m good for it. Some Power Pup and water too, if there’s any to spare.”

Jet could practically feel Kobra frown through the radio. “BL/I medicine? What the fuck do you need that for?”

Jet considered whether or not the answer would make Kobra not come, and decided to pray Kobra would choose morality over bitterness. “Party,” Jet said quickly. “You saw them last time. They’re real sick. Zone flu.”

Kobra clucked his teeth. “Shit, dude.”

“Please, Kobra Kid, I’ll- I’ll do anything, Party’s my best fr-”

There was a burst of static and Jet realized, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Kobra had ended the call.   
_Fucking Witch._

Jet gave himself one minute, just one minute. He sat on the floor, hugged his legs to his chest, and sobbed into his knees. He couldn’t do this, he wasn’t skilled enough in medicine, Party was going to die, godsfuckingdamnit, it was all Jet’s fault, and he was going to lose yet another crew, always the sole survivor, always the only one left, not good enough to die with his friends, not-

The minute was up. 

Jet got up, plastered a hopefully reassuring smile on his face, and walked back to where Party lay. 

“Hey, crash queenie,” he cajoled, kneeling down beside them. Party’s eyes were open and their pupils were rapidly darting around. Jet could only imagine what they were seeing. “Want some more water, kid?”

“‘Oller,” Party mumbled. 

“Huh?”

“Older,” Party managed, licking their dry, cracked lips. “Not kid.”

Not that far gone after all. Jet was momentarily relieved until he felt Party’s forehead - the fever had certainly not gone down. If anything, it might’ve been climbing. Never mind that. Jet was just going to do what he’d been taught by every healer he’d known when there was nothing else to do - just make the patient comfortable. “Heh. Fair enough. Okay, I’ll respect my elders.” Jet picked the water back up. It had maybe two more mouthfuls of water in it, maybe three. Jet hadn’t drank any in about a day and a half, and his mouth was like sandpaper, but it was much more important that Party stayed hydrated. Jet gave them about half the remaining water while chatting to keep their mind off things. 

So Jet went on and on about this and that, about the first time he met Show Pony, about how one time a member of his old crew and he had used a cactus as a dart board, that one time Jet had sworn he’d seen a cat prowling the edges of Zone Six, but it had disappeared before Jet could be sure it wasn’t a mirage, how he-

“ ‘ey, Jet?” Party asked weakly.

Jet stopped in the middle of his grand story. He’d been pretty sure Party was drifting off. But now he could see that Party’s eyes were wide, staring right into Jet’s. The water couldn’t have helped that much, could it have? “Yeah?”

“Uh, do you think,” Party coughed weakly. Their voice was so shot it made Jet’s throat hurt more. However, Party seemed remarkably conscious all of the sudden. “You think you could turn on some tunes, man? I’m fucking bored.”

Jet laughed despite himself, resisting the urge to cry. “Are you fucking joking?”

“Not at all, babe.” Party tried to sit up, resting their weight on their elbows, but they were shaking. Jet helped them sit, with Party more or less cuddled up against Jet’s chest. Party sighed and leaned into him. “Dude, I’m so tired.”

“I know, Party, I know.” Jet tested the fever again. It was the same. Was this a sudden burst of energy before final collapse? “You feelin’ any better?”

“Nah, just less fuzzy upstairs. Feel like I got left out in the sun to dry,” Party answered wryly, shutting their eyes. “Hate being sick.”

“I imagine most people do.”

Party smiled. “Hey, be nice to me, I’m dyin’.”

Jet  _ very lightly  _ hit Party’s shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re not dying.”

“We got any more water than that?”

“Well, no-“

“Then I’m dying,” Party concluded calmly, snuggling closer. It was quite unlike Party, giving up so easy, but Jet had seen Zone Flu before, and the way it sapped people’s energy until they could barely open their eyes or breathe. Compared to the average victim, Party was being downright excitable. 

They sighed again, then opened their eyes. “I, like,  _ never  _ got sick in the city.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. You know, no one really ever got sick. ‘Cuz of the pills, obviously. But sometimes my doses would get all sorts of fucked, you know, and I still wouldn’t get sick. My brother would. I used to mix our rations when he was sick, manage to get him some good stuff. Mac and cheese, he liked best. Aw, man, he was such a whiner when he was sick. Little brothers, dude.”

Jet rolled his eyes. As far as he knew, he was an only child, but by virtue of being around older zone-runners his whole life, he felt like sticking up for the youngest. “I’m sure older siblings can be annoying too.”

“Well, he wasn’t annoying. He was awesome, actually.” A shiver wracked Party’s body violently and Jet rubbed their arms to try and warm them up, despite the fact that their fever was so high. “S’was a funny kid. Shy as hell. You know, one time after he got chewed out by our mom for, I don’t remember, not smiling when swearing supreme loyalty to the Director one morning, something like that. He apologizes, she walks away, and after a beat he just goes, “asshat,” under his breath.” Party actually giggled a little. “He could be really impulsive. Uh, this story doesn’t end funny, but one day he just cut all his hair off. Walked into the room and our parents went insane. I laughed so hard, oh my Destroya. And it was really funny, until it wasn’t, but that’s a different story, heh.” Party shut their eyes again, a smile on their face. “Miss that little asshole.”

Jet smiled too until a memory surfaced in his brain. 

Wait a minute. 

Jet looked at Party. He squinted. 

Wait a minute…

Then he blinked the thought away. Nah, nevermind. That would’ve been im-fucking-possible. No way. 

Instead, they just stayed that way for a little bit, Jet hugging his friend, until they heard an engine roaring outside. Party was still awake, but a little more disoriented than before, so they just mumbled and blinked as Jet gently laid them down and grabbed his gun. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Again. 

Jet ducked behind a table and tried to peer through the grainy side windows. He couldn’t see a vehicle anywhere. Either someone had just been passing through, or they had parked on the other side of the building. Jet cursed and was about to snake-crawl across the dirty-ass floor when the front doors of the diner burst open. Quickly, Jet pointed his gun and was a millisecond from pulling the trigger when he saw a shock of blonde hair and stopped himself, breathing hard. “Kobra Kid?”

Kobra lowered his arms, which had been up in the universal  _ DON’T SHOOT  _ signal. “Witch, Jet, I thought you were going to ghost me.”

Jet let out a breath. “I thought I was going to. Wait, hang on, why are you here? I thought-“

Kobra quirked an eyebrow and held up a small bottle, shaking it. “Medicine.”

Jet finally allowed himself to cry. “Kobra,” he managed to get out, standing. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Let’s skip that.” Awkwardly, Kobra patted Jet on the shoulder, pointedly not mentioning the tears. “Where are they?”

Jet led Kobra over to where Party lay, blinking in confusion as they took in the killjoy in front of them. “Kid?” they croaked out. 

Sympathy dripping off his face, Kobra Kid knelt down and opened the bottle. “Yeah, dumbass, I’m here.”

Kobra and Jet got some pills in Party, who was too fevered to really complain about the BL/I label on the bottle. Kobra had brought water and food as well, so after they got some of that in them, Party slumbered off, peaceful. 

Jet was outside with Kobra, sipping some water and letting himself breathe. Party had seemed stable enough to walk away from for a few minutes, and Jet appreciated the break, though he kept throwing looks back into the diner, nervous. 

He leaned against the side of the building and looked over at the hero of the hour. Kobra’s hair was shining in the sun and his eyes were closed behind his sunglasses. He looked so casual, like he didn’t even know what he’d done. 

“Hey,” Jet said. Kobra’s gaze snapped over like he’d forgotten he was here. “Thanks. Really. After the fight-”

Kobra waved him off. “The fight was stupid. I’ve already forgotten about it. They were delirious and I was just being dumb.”

“You were upset.”

“Whatever. Tell Party to pretend it never happened, ‘kay?”

Jet nodded hesitantly. “I guess. But I know it must have been hard to convince Tommy to cough that over. I promise I’ll pay him back soon.”

Kobra shrugged. “Wasn’t hard at all. I think Tommy’s got a soft spot for one of you. Handed it over without a word.”

“Either way, tell him I’ll pay him. How many carbons was it? And for the water and Power Pup.”

Kobra Kid looked away. “No charge.”

“Okay, there’s no way Tommy’s that sweet on e ither of us. C’mon, how much did he say?”

“Uh,” Kobra said. “Well, technically, just the bottle was 95.”

Jet shut his eyes and silently cursed. That wasn’t even considering everything else. Currently, the Terrific Two had, like, six carbons to their names. “Okay-”

“But like I said, no charge.”

“Dude,” Jet said, getting a little annoyed. “I appreciate it, but I don’t want Tommy coming after my ass. Tell him...fuck, tell him to give me a few weeks. I’ll see if DJ Hot Chimp needs any errands done or something.”

“Jet,” Kobra said, more forcefully. “It’s already paid for, okay? Just forget it.”

“What the hell? There’s no way Tommy would-”

“Tommy didn’t pay for it, I did,” Kobra mumbled, crossing his arms. 

Jet stared. “Um. What? How?”

“Prize money from the rally last week,” Kobra said, staring at his boots. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Kobra, I...uh, I’ll pay you for it.”

“Don’t have to,” Kobra replied breezily, leaning against the diner and tilting his head up. “I’ll get more at the next derby, ‘cuz I’ll win again.”

Jet laughed. “Okay, fine, I guess. But I owe you one.”

“I think you mean Party does.”

“I’ll owe you one for them, how’s that?”

Kobra gave the barest hint of a smile in reply, then frowned again. “Never seen anyone with Zone Flu before.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty rough.”

“Hm, yeah. I’ve never really seen anyone sick. People don’t get sick in the city. I mean, I did a few times.”

“Oh yeah?” Jet asked, absent-mindedly kicking the sand with the toe of his boot. It was interesting to hear tales from the city from both Kobra and Party. 

“Yeah. My sister - uh,” he coughed, perhaps remembering the last time they’d talked about her. Jet looked away to be polite, but Kobra collected himself. “Yeah, she never got sick, but when I did, she’d take care of me. Made me mac and cheese a lot.” He smiled up at the sky. “Man, I miss mac and cheese, lemme tell you…”

Jet looked over at Kobra Kid. Look at his eyebrows, the slant of his nose, the way he talked out of the side of his mouth. Jet thought about Party. Then he thought about the fucked doses, the haircuts, the mac and cheese, everything. 

“Oh, holy fucking shit,” Jet whispered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue next! jet has a little bit of fun at the bro's expense, but he's definitively earned it

**Author's Note:**

> yo im like obsessed with mcr now lmao i really do just hop from hyperfixation to hyperfixation. ill try to put some dc stuff out soon ive got some ideas percolating.


End file.
